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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24071428">kill of the night.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/duaa/pseuds/duaa'>duaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Gen, If I go down I'm taking you with me, Not suicide i guess??, Pain, Taking You With Me Trope, Torture, suicide pill, superhero au, superhumans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:02:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24071428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/duaa/pseuds/duaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan knew the risks that came with the job. The average superhuman who chose to be a 'hero' lived for around 30 years. Logan was no different, and he was prepared to die. Except he wouldn't die at their hands, if he was going down, he was taking them with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sleep | Remy Sanders &amp; Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>kill of the night.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Logan's head hurt. His head hurt so, so much; the worst headache ever. Surrounded by so many people, all screaming filthy, disturbing thoughts in their brains. At him. His own thoughts were infiltrated, mental probing that left him gasping for air, begging on his knees. The bruises around his neck from his restraints didn't exactly help that, loose one second and choking the next. He passed out due to that, asphyxiation bringing what had seemed like an easy and early grave. But here he was, barely alive - alive nonetheless. His back was pressed against cold metal, stinging (??) and burning into Logan's flesh through his suit. His own blood trickled down his spine, warm and lethargic, rolling along his back and soaking into the fabric. His chest heaved with each breath, straining. He wasn't sure what the gas was that was released every now and then, but it choked him, leaving him doubled over, hanging from the restraints around his neck and wrists, hacking coughs racking his frame. His legs were numb, needles long gone from however long he spent kneeling like that, knees skinned, blood sticking his flesh to the cloth. The ropes around his ankles were of no use, rendered immobile already.</p><p>He wasn’t sure when the stream of blood dried, when his blue bruises started turning black, when his eyes ran out of tears, when the heaving of chest became second nature. The passage of time was lost on him, seconds as uncountable as hours, leaving him restless. He wove in and out of consciousness, wavering between the two. His mind was either an empty static, or a ringing so loud he was sure he would burst. Every now and then, the same phrase was repeated, ‘Name the Sides’ real identities’. He never did, blood dripping through his lips, silent save for the hitching of his breath. They would start again, and he would lose himself somewhere along the way, waking up just barely.</p><p>His only defence was the switch located on the inside of suit, waiting to be pressed. When he had been given this suit, they explained how it would work, how he could press it with his hands bound to escape. Escape this world - that is. Every suit was equipped with the equivalent of a cyanide pill, except Logan’s was a bit different. Think cyanide bomb. Killing everything in a fixed radius that Logan could barely remember right now. Not only would it kill them, but him as well. Yet again, his broken mind failed him as he trued to remember how the switch worked, how it would kill. He wasn’t sure. He just knew it would. It was a miracle that he had been wearing his suit, a way out presented to him.</p><p>He wasn’t hesitant, not in the slightest, to kill these people. Not only because they had him like this for hours - but because these people are cold-blooded killers. The assassination of Ethan Dolte, a lead advocate of equal rights for human and super-humans, was arranged by them. The kidnapping and subsequent torturing of countless heroes: Valiant, Joan, Leo, Terror, Dahlia. And now, they had Logic in their grasps, a lead to the Sides. The Sides were by no means the most efficient, but they won over the public pretty fast, making their way to the spotlight.</p><p>So, no, Logan would not <i>feel bad</i> about bringing down a group of criminals at his own expense, it would be the only thing he would do that ever matters. He just had to do it.</p><p>And do it he will.</p><p>He knew what had to be done, calculations ready in his brain. Right now, he was upright, giving his hands some space to move close enough to his chest. Months of practicing, etching the notions into muscle memory, he knew where his hand would swing, where it would hit the switch that was concealed. He had a few moments before their trials started again and in those few moments, he needed to act quickly.</p><p>“Name the Sides’ real identities.” Came the robotic voice, and he prepared himself. He was glad to be put out of his misery, out of this endless pain. He knew that this could go on for months, never truly reaching fatality, only building it up slowly. Besides, he knew he would never live to 70, surrounded by grandchildren. He knew that the average life span of a superhero was 30, a steadily decreasing number. A part of him wished that he was a normal human, wished that he was at his lecture right now. He wished he was at home, dutifully relaying the ‘tea’ to Remy. He wished he was a child, eating jam with his father.</p><p>Wishes that would never come true. Dreams he could only ever think of. He chose this life. <del>Then why does he hate it?</del></p><p>Swinging his arm, wincing as the rope dug in deeper, he did it. He could hear someone’s thoughts, panicking. He could hear the whirring in his suit, a steady count down blaring out.</p><p>“AO567-kP initiated. Five.”</p><p>He would miss Remy. A lot. They had been best of friends these past few days, and he was glad that Remy had kidnapped him when he did. Remy was a great friend, a great guy. Logan should’ve asked more questions about him. He should’ve talked more. He should’ve told Remy that he too was now invested in Oscar’s family. He didn’t even know what coffee Remy always drank - why did he never ask? He should’ve. Why did he never tell Remy that he applied to join the BH? He should’ve. There were many things he did wrong, incomplete. Did he ever let Remy know that he considered him his best friend? He wished he did.</p><p>
  <i>’What the fuck did that kid do?’</i>
</p><p>“Four.”</p><p>He missed his dad. If only he hadn’t gone to the academy, maybe he could have stayed with his dad for longer, kept him company. He should’ve taken his advice, he wished he did more at the academy. He studied hard, but that was all. He should’ve made some friends. Talked more. He asked Dante out, but that had been the start and end of his interactions. Maybe if he hadn’t been so grade oriented. Maybe. Who knew now? He was good friends with Virgil, why and how did that change? What did Logan do wrong? If only Logan had moved on, gotten over Dante - perhaps things could’ve been better.</p><p>“Three.”</p><p>An involuntary muscle spasm took over him, as he let out a howl. It hurt. Everything hurt. He wasn’t as harmed as he could’ve been - and that scared him. How many people were out there, that were like this? Twisted, demented. How on earth did no one ever try to capture them? <del>Try to save him?</del></p><p>“Two.”</p><p>Pandemonium wreaked outside, he could barely hear it over the thundering in his mind.</p><p>“One.”</p><p>He felt strangely sad at the thought of his death. He should’ve been prepared. He wished he had time to say goodbye. Another crash. He could hear someone else’s thoughts. Someone familiar. Panic coursed through him as he realised Remy was here, searching for him in a coffin. He hoped Remy would be spared, miraculously outside the range of -</p><p>“AO567-kP successfully activated.”</p><p>The last thing Logan heard was Remy screaming his name.</p>
<hr/><p>Logan woke up with three profound realisations. One: there were wires coming out of him. And going in. He wasn’t terrified of needles, but he wasn’t sure how much he appreciated feeling constant pokes and prods, tubes supplying him with god-knows-what. He could feel around three, there could be more. There was no way there any less. Two: there were hands on him. All over him. Cold, dry and latex covered hands pressed on him chest, ribs, temples, waist, everywhere. He would have objected to that, except every time they did, a cool numbing effect would take over. So for now, Logan was fine with that. As far as he could tell, that was all. Three: he was not dead.</p><p>This was the exact order in which he realised these things, which made him feel confused and stupid. Of course he wasn’t dead. His heart beat, he could smell the antiseptic, he could feel the tubes and the hands. Despite the presence of hands indicating humans, he couldn’t <i>hear</i> anyone. Anyone’s thoughts. It was possible that the person was guarding their thoughts, something Logan could appreciate. He could also appreciate the cloth laid over eyes, filtering out what he supposed was the harsh light.</p><p>“All done. He seems to be awake.” He heard murmurs. Faint thoughts that flit just past him, out of reach.</p><p>“Logan?” That was him. He tried to say something, only for nothing to come out. The hands laid down on his throat, the cold making him shiver.</p><p>“Why don’t you try again?”</p><p>“Hhh.” He managed a sound. A sound. He was reduced to animalistic groaning, it seemed. The hands clasped his face. He took that as his cue to try once more.</p><p>“H-hello.” His voice was scratchy, but present. He could talk.</p><p>“That’s great! Hello to you too! Logan, you are aware of where you are, right?”</p><p>He wanted to shake his head, but he wasn’t sure if he could. “No.” He muttered after a moment of deliberation.</p><p>“Hospital. I am you doctor. I have healing powers, which is what I was doing just now. Since you need rest to recover, we will be putting you to sleep soon. Before we do that, I just need to you tell me three things about yourself.”</p><p>“I have mind reading powers. I used to work for the Heroes Central. I can’t hear your thoughts, why?” He found it easier to speak as the doctor’s hands stayed on his face. It felt weird, but now that he knew what was happening he didn’t mind.</p><p>“Ah, we have a telepath here who is masking everyone’s thoughts. It would be unwise for you to hear them, you already sustained enough damage. Besides...”</p>
<hr/><p>Logan woke up again with a few more profound realisations. One: the telepath had left, Logan could hear the occasional thought drifting here and there. He must be in a secluded area of the hospital. Two: There were no more wires or tubes on him. He appreciated that. Three: someone was singing a song in their head that Logan had heard of before.</p><p>“Remy?” The singing stopped.</p><p>“Logan!” The incidents of ... whenever it happened came back to him and his eyes flew open.</p><p>“You’re alive?!”</p><p>“Yeah, ask the guy with a single chipped nail.”</p><p>“I... I’m not supposed to be alive either? How am I alive?”</p><p>“Cause I said so.” A tendril of smoke peeked out from behind Remy and moved in what could only be a resemblance to a wave. “Turns out, if I control you to not breath the toxic gas and flee faster than light - we live!”</p><p>Logan’s thoughts were racing. Remy reached out to him. He should thank Remy, apologise, do something!</p><p>“Look doll, you’re not supposed to be thinking right now. The morphine will kick in in a few. Doctors orders, don’t let Logan think. So, just don’t think okay?”</p><p>Logan nodded. How could he not think?</p><p>“Just listen to me. Basically, I developed my secondary powers. Which was fucking cool. I now have super speed. Which I think we knew was coming, I mean you’ve seen the way I drive. They had a telepath come in and sort out your brain, by the way. Just to sort of remove the horrifying things. I know it’s kinda like memory theft, but you don’t want those memories, promise. Of course, you still remember everything, they just said that it’s more detached in your brain now. Which should be good. You also bought down those sickos, most didn’t die, but they’ve been sentenced to death, so. I know I sound really...”</p><p>Logan smiled, listening to Remy go on. He wasn’t sure whether or not the morphine was administered yet, but he had another profound realisation: he was glad to be alive.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lmk if you see a typo!<br/>hope you like it ❤️💕</p></blockquote></div></div>
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